The Atypical Dragonborn
by Hygloomx
Summary: Short story about the Dragonborn: Nimye, a young Dunmer beggar in Windhelm. Describes her travels from Morrowind, and her encounter with Rob the messenger. She discovers that she is the Dragonborn and must make an important choice. T for suggestive themes.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Windhelm, or the races and NPC names mentioned in this story. They are products of Bethesda Game Studios. **

The messenger came in the early hours of the morning, rushing in through Windhelm's large gates and immediately rushing to the palace gates and demanding entrance. The guards, always suspicious of outsiders, were reluctant to let him in. Nimye had been warming her hands at the fire outside the palace, exchanging small talk with Silda, who had been eying the messenger's satchel hungrily. The Nord messenger was relentlessly pressing the guards to let him in. His garb was not typical Windhelm garb: it was far too thin. He was obviously from a different Hold, and had travelled far with his urgent news.

"Please, you have to let me in. I must speak with Ulfric Stormcloak. It is a matter of great importance. I have a message from Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun regarding the dragon attacks." So she'd been right, he was from a different hold. The trip to Whiterun was a precarious one, not to be undertaken without good cause. Especially not as a lone messenger, carrying a satchel that could contain anything. He was basically bandit-bait.

She could still remember the long nights of travelling by foot from her homeland of Morrowind. They'd been attacked more times than she could remember, taken prisoner 3 times, her younger sister Caryne had been raped and murdered at the age of 9 by a group of bandits near the border, while Nimye had been forced to watch at the tender age of 12. 4 years ago. She shook her head to rid herself of the image. There had been so much blood. How had this messenger survived?

She'd been the only one in her family to survive the long trip. She'd loved reading ancient spell tomes, and learning the secrets and tricks of the schools of Illusion and Destruction. Her parents had beaten her for it, telling her such bloody magic was not for the mind of a young girl. They bought her books that told of healing, and restoration, but they bored her. Nothing could quench her need for the arcane knowledge. She could never test her abilities for fear of what they might harm at home, but the first time a group of bandits had surrounded them, swords drawn, she'd launched a fireball at them causing a fiery explosion that killed 5 and injured the other 3. She had, however, also gravely injured her older brother Armyne. The only reason he had survived it was because of the natural fire resistance that Dunmer had. Her mother had attempted to heal him, using restoration magic, but the wound was too deep and her magic too weak. She'd only been able to stem the bleeding, and he'd died of infection a few days later. Her family had shunned Nimye after that. She didn't blame them: what she'd done had been unforgivable. She couldn't forget it, or move on. Armyne had been the strongest in the group.

Her father was old and frail and could no longer fight to protect his family, her mother had been used to a life of riches and couldn't clean or cook. When they had begun the trip, Caryne had only been 8, and wasn't used to the harsh life that being a refugee entailed. Nimye had been just 11, but the tasks of cooking and washing had fallen to her, as her mother was always complaining that it was too cold, that the ground was too hard, that her bag was too heavy, and refused to do anything. Her mother had never wanted to come to Skyrim, she'd loved life in Morrowind, and she'd loved thinking that she was superior to other races. It came as a shock to her when she'd been spat on and treated like dirt by guards that they'd met. After that she'd become silently furious at Father, and refused to help. Armyne had stood guard with her father, taking turns in the night. Armyne took more shifts than Father though. Father needed his sleep: he was old and weary. When Armyne died, his tasks also fell to Nimye, and her father became progressively weaker. Eventually Caryne could have helped with the cooking and washing, but she didn't want her too close, afraid she might hurt her as she had Armyne. It had been a bloody trip, and before they had reached their first village, everyone but Nimye and Caryne had been dead.

Nimye had had to decide what small necessities to bring, and what to leave behind, as she and her sister could not possibly carry clothes, food, trinkets, weapons and bedrolls for 5 people. Nimye had made the decision only to carry one bedroll, as either she, or (less often) her sister would be awake on watch, and if not, they could share. She'd dumped all of the food, deciding that she could pick what she needed, or hunt it. This was not a good decision: she'd never hunted before, and she had no idea what was and was not edible in the unfamiliar land. She very quickly learned how to hunt with her father's bow, when her sister almost died of starvation. Her mother had insisted on bringing ancient family heirlooms with her, not wanting to forget her homeland. They had ornate silver mirrors, jeweled lockets, goblets, gilded circlets and bracelets, and gold rings. All of this was metal: it was heavy, required special treatment, and took up space. Nimye sold most of it to some Khajit who were selling and buying wares out of their caravans. Khajit, being schemers, saw that she was a young refugee, and ripped her off big time. She'd only realized later, when someone had seen one of her rings and offered her 300 gold for it, where she'd only gotten 30 for the others that she sold. She kept 4 pieces: 1 locket that was heavy, but contained the faces and names of her immediate family engraved on the inside. She kept an enchanted circlet of health, that she made Caryne wear under her hooded robes, so that she would stay stronger. She kept 2 rings, one of major archery, the other of major destruction. She kept her father's bow, and his quiver of arrows, and his dagger. She couldn't take either his or Armyne's sword: they were too heavy and conspicuous. She had a coin purse with about 200 gold after having sold clothes, trinkets and weapons to the Khajit, and having exchanged her heavy, Dunmer robes for warmer and more mobile trousers and a tunic.

Being small, Caryne didn't fit any trousers, and Nimye hadn't wanted to hang around the scheming cat-people longer than necessary, so she'd bought a large tunic and a hood that fit the younger girl like hooded robes. Now all she had were the dagger, the bow, and the locket. The clothes had become ragged and dirty, but she couldn't afford different ones. The dagger was strapped to her thigh at all times, she had no arrows left for her bow, but she carried it on her back anyway. The locket was near to her heart always, to remind her of all her losses. She'd travelled far and wide, trying to find a city that would let her in. No one wanted a refugee.

When she'd finally arrived at Windhelm, she'd been starving, freezing, and exhausted. The guards hadn't wanted to let her in, but a kindly farmer delivering potatoes to the city had come up behind her, and told the guards that she was his niece. The guard had snorted disbelievingly, made a racist comment, but had shrugged, and opened the gates. The man had left her standing in the middle of the snowy street, and continued on his way without giving her a chance to thank him. She had had no idea what she was doing in the city, nor any clue about what the political position of the city was. She'd made her way towards an in with a sign reading "Candlehearth Hall" only to be yelled at by a multitude of Skyrim's native people: the Nords. They'd told her to "go back to the Grey Quarter." She'd left and followed an old Dunmer man through dark alleys with open drains, past ramshackle houses and shops, all filled with Dunmer, as well as a few other races. It was by far the most poverty-stricken area of the city. Having no family, she didn't have guidance, and all she wanted was warmth. Being shorter than most people, due to her age, proved to be an advantage, as she saw things they didn't. She noticed a small opening underneath a stone house, boarded up to make sure water didn't get under and flood the house.

Desperate for an escape from the cold and wet, she'd rushed down, pulling at the boards until her hands bled. She managed to pull two of the boards off, and wriggle inside. A small dirt cavern greeted her sights, blessedly dry, with pieces of wood lying around. Evidentially the person who had built the house above had removed a large amount of rocks, and had then stupidly proceeded simply to build over the space left by them. She could stand up in her little home, and the first thing she did was collect the small bits of wood and built a small fire. Not enough for the smoke to choke her, but enough to illuminate the room and warm her. She'd laid down her bedroll and promptly fallen asleep. The next day she'd gone out into the town and stolen what food she could, snatched a few torches, and chopped some wood that she brought back. She'd made a small home for herself, which was more than many Dunmer in Windhelm could boast. She made a living off of begging, a more honest profession than that in which the majority of the other Dunmer in the city did: pickpocketing, assassination, and stealing. Just a few worked in their own small shops.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she said goodbye to Silda, and watched as the messenger was reluctantly admitted into the palace. Begging in the Gray Quarter was useless: no one had much money, and what little they did have, they weren't going to give away. No, Nimye begged in front of Candlehearth Hall. Almost every traveller stayed there, or at least visited for a hot meal. Travellers were always quite wealthy, as well as the people in the upper classes of Windhelm's society, who often liked to drop by the Hall for a drink, or just to socialize. She set her blanket next to the steps leading to the main entrance of the Hall, and waited for someone to walk by. It was a slow day: it was snowing, and no one wanted to leave their homes to socialize. Although there were many travellers that came to Windhelm in these times, on their way to other places or simply on business, all of them were inside. Nimye settled down, wrapping the blanket around her and waited.

After about 3 hours of sitting in the cold and waiting, starved half to death, she finally saw a shape make its way through the snow.

"Please good sir. Spare a coin? I'm just so hungry." She pleaded. The shape stopped. _Oh please let this not be another racist Nord_. She really didn't fancy getting kicked around in this snow. The man came nearer and the face of the messenger emerged. His long dark hair whipped in the wind and his blue eyes gleamed out from under a hood.

"What are you doing out here in this snow? Here, take this gold." He had a kind voice when he wasn't yelling at guards, she mused. He handed her 5 gold pieces, and continued on his way into the hall. She grasped the gold gladly, it was enough to buy her some bread, but she decided she'd wait for a bit. It was so cold, she wanted to be able to buy some vegetables and make a stew. Warmth was as important as nourishment in those cold winter months. After about 20 minutes, she heard a yell of:

"This was the last place I looked, and you're also full? What am I supposed to do now?" and the slamming of a door. It was the messenger again. He'd been so kind to her earlier, and he had gold. A thought struck her. He had nowhere to stay, it was freezing, and she had a home, humble as it may have been. She pushed herself to her feet, and ran through the whirling snow to the man.

"Sir, I couldn't help but overhear your exclamation. Am I correct in thinking that you have no place to stay?" She asked, tentatively. He looked at her curiously.

"You're right. Would you happen to know of a place that I don't?" He asked, hope lighting his eyes.

"Not really, I know that everyone in this city has relatives visiting, and that it's a very busy time. For some reason people seem to enjoy freezing. You won't find a hotel here, or a homestay. I have a very small home, and you were so kind to me earlier. In exchange for the purchase of a few vegetables, meats and herbs, you could stay there. It's warm and sheltered, although I can't promise much in the way of space or privacy. I'm Nimye, by the way. " She said, looking at him. She really needed the food, and it wasn't as though she was selling herself for prostitution. He was looking at her strangely.

"That is truly kind of you. It's probably the best that I've got going for me right now, so I'll accept this offer. I'm surprised that you have a house here in Windhelm, you being a beggar and a Dark Elf and all." He looked distinctly uncomfortable after having said that.

"Me too. It's not a proper house, but it's a place to live, and it's more than most beggars have." She began walking towards the market. He followed her through the alleys.

"I'm Robert. Rob for short." He added, as if in afterthought.

She greeted Nils, the castle cook, and as always, he grunted in response. She only did it to remain on good terms with every possible person in the city, lest they find out about her family's less than honorable past in Morrowind. They passed the blacksmith arrived at the market. Nimye was on friendly terms with the Dunmer shopkeepers there, but she didn't have any true friends in Windhelm. She waved at Niranye, and went over to the fruit and vegetable stand, selecting leeks, potatoes and a few carrots. She also chose a few apples, for the morning. Then she bought a loaf of bread and a few chunks of unidentified meat. The total was about 30 gold. He paid without even flinching. She grinned. She knew the total price of her groceries would add up to be about half of what he would have paid for a room, food, and drink at Candlehearth. They then went into the White Phial, and she bought cinnamon, pepper, and paprika. That was about 40 gold. Still only 70 gold in total. At Candlehearth it would have been around 200 gold. Then she lead the way through the stinking alleys, her feet getting soaked through her cloth shoes as she sloshed through puddles. They reached the ramshackle street where she lived. Over the 6 years that she'd lived in Windhelm, she'd upgraded the place a bit, finding a stone slab to place in front of the entrance, so that water would flow away from her entrance. Then she'd fashioned hinges and built a kind of door so that she didn't always have to pry the boards off when she wanted to go in. Inside, she'd cornered off a section by hanging cloth and built a sort of toilet, with old broken bits of piping fashioned to lead sewage to the sewers. She'd stolen assorted pots and pans, and being used to good hygiene in Morrowind, she'd dug out a small room for a shower, with a large bucket of water, and soap that she'd made from ashes, animal fat, and pine scent. She'd stolen pelts from various hunters that traveled through the city, and had sewn them together using bone needles and fishing line so that the cold wouldn't come up through the dirt and make it colder than it needed to be. Most of the things in her house were stolen, but no one could say she wasn't resourceful.

"It's a bit difficult to get into, but it'll be warm once I get a fire going." She told him, gesturing towards the small entrance. His eyes widened, but he nodded. She crept down, and pushed it open, jumping feet first into her home. It wasn't a long drop. He jumped in after her. She walked around, using a fire spell to light the torches that she'd placed along the walls. Then she collected firewood from a corner, and built up a large fire in her dug out fireplace. She'd fashioned it so that at least some smoke could escape and she could have a larger fire. She felt Rob's eyes on her as her hands glowed with the formation of the fire spell. She cast it until the wood was burning well.

"Well. This is my humble abode. I'll cook something up. I have a makeshift toilet in that corner, and that small room over there is for a shower. I'm sorry, there's not much in the way of privacy. Do you have a bedroll?" He nodded, gesturing to his satchel.

"You can lay it down there. I assume you want alcohol? I've probably got a bottle of mead rolling around here somewhere, I've got no idea." She pointed to the area next to her bedroll, near the fire.

He stuttered. "I-I'll have whatever you're having. I don't want to be more of a burden than I already am. I might take a shower though, I've been on the road for many days." She looked up at him.

"Alright. I assume you want a hot shower, I was just about to heat some water anyway." He looked surprised, as though he hadn't expected her to be this hospitable.

"That would be amazing, thank you." She looked away awkwardly. She hadn't ever let anyone into her living quarters before, and was finding it exceedingly embarrassing. If only Rob could have stayed in the beautiful family home in Morrowind. He would have been less displeased with her quarters. She wished she could make the experience more enjoyable for him, staying in a beggar's home couldn't have been his expectation when he had planned on travelling to Windhelm. She went outside and overfilled a kettle and a bucket with snow. When she brought them in, Rob was sitting on his bedroll, staring around her home. She couldn't get used to the feeling of having someone in her house. She hung the bucket of water over the fire and put a lid over it. She sat down on her own bedroll and pulled off her soaked shoes and all of her layers except the ragged shirt that she'd arrived in Windhelm with. Rob was staring at her intensely and she was uncomfortably aware of it. She hung her clothes up and tried to ignore it. She wasn't used to this much human interaction. She was saved from her thoughts as the water began to boil. She grabbed the shower bucket and poured the boiling water in. She added snow so it wasn't too hot and handed Rob the bucket.

"Here, for your shower." He looked around awkwardly.

"Where should I change?" He asked uncomfortably. _Whoops. Hadn't anticipated that_.

"You can change here, don't worry, I won't look." She didn't mean for it to sound suggestive, but it seemed to. And he blushed. The weathered messenger blushed when a beggar girl flirted with him. _By accident_. Oh gods. This was not what she'd wanted at all. She worked alone. She'd just wanted a hot meal. The companionship was an unavoidable cost. She turned her back and set to boiling the kettle for stew and a traditional Dunmer cinnamon drink. She heard the sound of robes dropping, sloshing as the bucket was picked up, and breathed a sigh of relief as she heard it splashing on the floor as he took his shower. She took some of the boiled water and mixed cinnamon and pepper in with sugar that she'd been given from some rich trader who had failed to sell just the one bag. She took out a flat slab of stone and placed it in the coals around the fire, adding meat, fat, and salt and cooking the meat a bit before putting it into the boiling water with the vegetables, salt, and paprika. If anything, Nimye knew how to cook. She left it to simmer and turned around. A very naked, wet Rob was standing at the entrance to the shower. Gasping, Nimye covered her eyes.

"Why…?" She asked in a choked voice.

"I'm so sorry Nimye. I was just about to ask you if you had a cloth that I could dry myself with. I'll leave if you like. I didn't mean for you to see erm… that." He mumbled.

"No, it was an honest mistake. Here, take this cloth. And here are your clothes." She stumbled in his general direction, with eyes still covered, and gave him the cloth and clothes. After a few minutes, he emerged.

"It's okay, you can look now. I'm fully clothed and everything." He laughed nervously. Despite everything, she laughed as well.

"Here, I made this. I know it's not ale, or mead, but it's warm, it'll keep you warm." She handed him a chipped cup of the drink. He sipped at it, and groaned.

"Thank you, that was exactly what I needed." The stew was finished cooking. She took it off of the stove, giving Rob her bowl, and eating out of the pot.

"So, what was the urgent news that you were rushing into the palace with this morning? Or am I not allowed to know that?" She questioned.

"Jarl Balgruuf is kind of panicky about anything to do with the war, or dragons. Every slight problem, every small theory, and he sends out an envoy to Windhelm and Solitude. I was closest, so he woke me up and told me to get my satchel and bring a letter to Ulfric Stormcloak. He told me that the Dragonborn had used a shout, and that the Greybeards were calling him to High Hrothgar. He didn't know who, or where the Dragonborn was though, only that he was being called. So I journeyed here." He explained. _Oh shit. That's what I am. That's what that was. No one can know. I don't want to leave home again._ A few days ago, a dragon had attacked Windhelm. The guards had brought down the body, and she'd felt it calling to her in the dark of night. Unable to sleep, she'd crept out into the street where it had been killed. Something white-purple had come out of it, and gone into her, and she felt a power not dissimilar to magic unlock within her. She knew that she now had another ability that she could unleash, and unwittingly, she'd released it.

'_FUS_' she had shouted, in an ancient, guttural tongue, and an unrelenting force had been released from her body, hitting the wall, making it shake. Then she'd run, before guards could find her, and arrest her for her crimes.

"So, what about you. Have you always lived in Whiterun?" He asked her, obviously bored. What kind of terrible host was she, a young woman without any grit in her, constantly thinking about something else.

"I arrived here 6 years ago, when I was 12. My family left Morrowind when I was 10. We walked by foot over the border and through Skyrim. I was the only one to survive. They're all dead. All of them. Murdered. And there was so much blood. Too much blood and it was terrible. I don't deserve to have survived. I should be dead. I should be with them." What had started out as a controlled answer had released the floodgates within her. They'd stayed shut throughout all those years because she'd never talked to anyone about her past, or about anything important. Now that she did, everything came flooding back into her mind, and she was drowning in too many memories as her family had drowned in their own blood. Rob was staring at her with fear and sorrow in his eyes.

"Nimye. Are you alright? I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked. It was a stupid question. I have another one. Why do you live alone with all this bottled up inside of you? It's not healthy. You have to let things out, or they'll haunt you forever." He sounded sad, for her. She'd never had someone feel sorry for her before. It was oddly comforting.

"I live alone because I'm a stranger in this large land. I live alone because I have a history. I live alone because that's how I've been for the longest time. I live alone because I have no other choice. I'm so sorry you had to see that. I meant for this to be a simple stay." She swallowed a sob, and forced the tears to stay in her eyes. _Deep breaths Nimye. In, out, in, out. _

"You shouldn't live alone. You deserve more than that. You've been nothing but kind to me and I regret not one second of my stay here. Let's go to sleep. You look exhausted, and I've travelled a long way." She nodded, and they settled down in their bedrolls. She fell asleep almost immediately, but woke up every two hours like she always did to make sure that no one was in her house. In the morning, she woke up and stoked the fire, adding more wood, and heated the bread so that it would be warm. She broke the loaf in half and ate it with some of the leftover stew. Rob woke up soon after, stretching before accepting a cup of water and bread with stew.

"You know, I've been thinking. You could come with me." He told her, when he finished eating.

"What do you mean?" She asked, dreading that she already knew the answer.

"You could come back to Whiterun with me. You could work with me. My job gets lonely, and I'm sure you're lonely too. I have a house, a real one, and I get paid enough to support two people, especially if we both work." He said, excitedly.

_I can't leave home again. I just can't do it. But if I was with someone? He'll probably die. It's what people around me tend to do. _

"I don't know. Last time I left home, all my companions died. I've made a living for myself here. Why do you want me?" She said, almost pleadingly.

He heard the hint of pleading in her voice and frowned. "You're a beggar Nimye. That's not a living. You live in a dirt hole under someone's house. I'm not going to die: I can fight. You're lonely; let me help. I want you because you're strong. I want you because you've gone through so much and you survived it. I want you because I'm lonely too. I want you because you're beautiful. I want you because I can't remember how I ever got through life alone. I know it's only been one night but please, Nimye I don't think I can make the trip back without you." His voice reached the pitch of desperation as he begged her to come with him. She looked at him, shocked. _Maybe being lonely isn't the only answer. Maybe I'll be happier if I go with him. Maybe. But with this sort of balance, there is always another answer. Because maybe it'll be worse if I go with him. Maybe being lonely is better than being heartbroken. I can't know that. Will I take the risk?_ She looked into his eyes and knew that he really believed it would be better. She could protect him. She was stronger now, less afraid. What happened to Caryne would not happen to Rob. She wouldn't let it, and neither would he. Maybe she could be happy for once. She didn't need to tell anyone that she was the Dragonborn. Rob would find out when they were confronted with a dragon, but that didn't matter. No one else would suspect a thing. They all thought that the Dragonborn was a strong Nord man. They would never have imagined that it was a small Dunmer girl, adventuring with a lanky Nord messenger.

"I don't have any arrows left in my quiver and my dagger needs sharpening, but my wits are sharp as ever, and my Magicka bar is full." She grinned. He grinned back, and before she could comprehend what he was doing he was kissing her. Her mouth parted in surprise and he kept going. She pulled away from the sweetness of his embrace.

"Let's go. I'll pack up and tell Silda that she's got a new house."

"Thank you Nimye. You have no idea how thankful I am that I gave you those 5 gold outside of the Hall. You have no idea how glad I am that you let me stay here. You saved my life and I intend to repay the favor tenfold. After all, you have seen me naked." With a raunchy wink, he grabbed his bedroll and pulled himself out of her small entrance. She touched her lips thoughtfully, packed her necessities, and left Windhelm forever; never to return to the poverty and pain it had treated her with.

**A/N: I hope you liked that short fic, I'm considering making it into a longer one, let me know what you think. I'm open to suggestions in terms of plot, as well as writing style. I know I tweaked the prices, as well as a few other things, but… This just came to me on a train, and I wrote it, so I'm not sure how good it is but oh well. Please review and follow/fav. if you liked it, and if you didn't, feel free to tell me what you disliked, I'm always looking to improve! Thanks so much for reading my story!**

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